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The Psychic Adviser. Juan Moisés De La Serna
Читать онлайн.Название The Psychic Adviser
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isbn 9788835417323
Автор произведения Juan Moisés De La Serna
Жанр Детская проза
Издательство Tektime S.r.l.s.
I’d have liked to have made some kind of radio or television program around the issue, based on my precepts, to try to understand or at least discuss whether or not my actions were justified, but that had been so socially serious that no one would think of it.
The only things I had received were insults, threats and contempt from everyone, in such a way that when picking up the members of the jury who were going to judge me they found it difficult since most of the population was inclined to condemn me without even having started the trial.
And about the defense, that was another, no one wanted to defend me despite the fact that the constitution supported me in having legal advice, but there was no one who wanted to see their name stained with this case, not even those who liked to litigate against the interests of the government, or who, as they said, wanted to change the things.
It had to be a foreigner, one of those who studied in their country of origin and who requested at the time the validation of their degree, for which they had to return to supervised practices repeating the internship, who was the only one in the end who agreed to defend me, if you can call it that, for he was also sure of my guilt.
To tell the truth, I was too, at least I knew what I had done, how and why, and although I was not prepared for a life sentence, I knew that my actions were socially reprehensible and therefore that I had to pay for it.
Although I have not considered myself a religious person, I do believe that I have some solid moral values, adjusted to the society in which I have lived, being respectful of the norms and rules of coexistence.
Hence, despite how much they inquired about my past, they did not find those “symptoms” that criminals seem to have, such as petty theft, petty crimes, or transgressions of morals during childhood, to gradually increase in terms of its frequency and intensity during adolescence, until reaching its maximum expression in adult life.
But in my case they did not discover anything similar, which is why they always thought that I had an accomplice, that is, that there was a thinking head, and that I was only the executing arm.
They even argued that I had been brainwashed, or something similar, but all of the drug and psychological tests that I passed came back negative, I had not suffered any kind of external influence that would subdue my will or something like that.
I know they didn’t quite understand me, and that probably in other circumstances I wouldn’t either, but what I did was conscious and meditated.
Despite admitting my guilt, it is difficult to get up every day knowing that it will be exactly the same as yesterday and the day before yesterday, and also that it will be repeated tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, for the rest of my life.
Some prisoners, the most fortunate, are anxious for the days to pass so they can have a visit from a relative or loved one, but no one has visited me for a long time.
Since the conviction was handed down, not even the defense attorney has come to see how I am.
Just when there is a case review to be carried out, and because it is mandatory by law, a prison attorney appears to inform me that a committee must decide whether or not to keep the conditions of my sentence, a procedure that must be carried out, since my crime is unforgivable and for many years that pass I do not think they will forget it.
Perhaps it was not so bad at the end at all, because if they had tried and convicted me in the military field, they say the facilities are worse, since those who go there have a specific training in the art of war, what that makes them dangerous to their own people, and that, despite the fact that some journalists had tried to have me prosecuted in the military sphere, the judge did not understand that it was necessary.
Not that bad, I can’t imagine following a military schedule for the rest of my life, accompanied by convicts who are real killing machines, and that any bad look can be considered an assault.
It is not that I am one of those who seek a fight, or anything like that, but in such a small center, conflicts and misunderstandings are frequent.
On more than one occasion, a simple blow when going out to the yard has been enough to start a fight, which on the same day or in the future has meant that they have attacked and even killed one of those involved.
A situation that has led me to think that I am better off alone than with one of those small groups that are formed among prisoners, where a leader directs a part of the yard and those who pass through that area must obey his orders and even his whims.
At least that is how the majority of prisoners live it, those who have committed minor crimes, or who have little left to get out of jail.
In my case, locked up for life in a maximum security prison, there are hardly any riots, since the guards try to ensure that there are no more than two or three people in the yard at a time, thus avoiding confrontations or what is worse, letting them make some kind of plan, since these prisoners are really dangerous.
At the first in that world, I knew nothing, and I felt safe complying with the regularity that was established, and taking advantage of the free time to carry out some activity or to be in the library.
But on one occasion I was able to witness one of the prisoners being executed by others, apparently for no reason, and from that day on I preferred my cell to spend my free time.
That led me to become a great reader, since I didn’t have much else to do between those three walls, since the gate does not count.
And over time, I thought and decided to start writing, something that has led me to complete this book.
Chapter 2. Nothing makes sense
It had been several years since I managed to enhance my abilities, those that had brought me so many problems and that with practice and training I had managed to subdue.
At first those flashes came to me, which even made me lose consciousness, something quite uncomfortable since I even fell, with the subsequent consequences that when I woke up I was in pain and sometimes even bruised.
I don’t know why, but over time these experiences, so to speak, became more and more frequent, maybe due to the exigencies of circumstances, when I began my collaboration with the police. I don’t know if it works like that, but I started to get “answers” to the cases in which I was involved.
I think it was unintentional, so to speak, after the first case in which they told me all the sort of details and the evidence collected even showing me at the crime scene, I don’t know why, but that night I had, I don’t know how to define it, a nightmare.
At first I had attributed it to the impression of participating in a case, because of the amount of blood that I had seen in the images of the victim or that had been found on the knife, but something happened that I did not expect.
The next day I went to the police station early and there I asked to see that policeman to tell him about my nightmare, who from the beginning had laughed at me, saying I was a fraud, and he was trying to prove it with that case, in which he hoped me to fail.
“Good morning, I’ve come to tell you something,” I said as I entered the police station.
“Don’t tell me you’ve solved the case!” He said with a joking tone as he got up from his desk and with his hand invited me to come to the interrogation room.
Well, I had spent the last three days in that room, where they had shown me all kinds of images, evidence and conjectures about the events, the victim, the suspects… an infinity of data and details with which I expected… I don’t know… overwhelm me.
All with the intention of giving me the greatest facilities so that I would not have any “excuse” when I failed, or at least the police chief had told me so on several occasions.
“Well, I don’t know if it’s